Page 101 of Elf-ish

“Well, famous one day.” I smile again as I stare at the creamy chocolate mix.

“I like that kind of confidence.” He kisses the side of my neck and continues holding me.

Sadly, I don’t think Jude has been hugged enough in his lifetime, and it’s made him skittish to give or receive something so simple as a hug.

So, I continue to stroke his arm, keeping him pinned to my back and holding me while I work.

“Why do I feel like I’m being let in on a secret?”

“You are,” I tease, the seriousness intended in my voice is disguised beneath laughter.

“Can I help?” His question is almost as anxious as his embrace.

“Of course.” I pause, then pull one of his hands forward. “First lesson, keep stirring.”

I make his hand take over the stirring I’d been doing.

“Slow,” I whisper as he goes a bit too fast.

He hums over my shoulder. “I told you I don’t know how to go slow.”

I feel his smile against the side of my neck.

“And you also told me you’d try.”

While the twirl of his wrist, he moves the chocolate around the pot, and says, “But I don’t want to go too slow.”

He kisses the side of my neck, like it’s the reassurance I need that we haven’t leapt too quickly into whatever is happening between us.

“Timing is of the essence,” I state once the chocolate looks smooth. “We need to get the rest of the ingredients together.”

Jude stands back, and I turn off the stove, moving the pot to a back burner. Then, I hand Jude a whisk and show him how to cream butter.

“You have to really beat it,” I say, and Jude chokes.

“Oh, honey, you have no idea how good I am at that.”

I snort at the sexual innuendo. “Have a lot of practice, do you?”

“The past month has been the worst,” he teases.

“Oh really,” I arch a brow as he continues to work the butter to a creamy pulp, and I sift in powdered sugar.

“I met this angel and she fucking haunts my dreams.”

“Haunts, you say?” I tweak a brow again, as Jude chews at his lower lip, really concentrating on the butter and sugar combination.

“She’s all I think about.”

I still for a second, staring at his profile. “Is she like the ghost of Christmas present or something?”

“Apparently, she’s the past I missed and the present I’m enjoying.” He doesn’t look at me, his jaw tightening with the admission. “I think I’d like her to be the Christmas future as well.”

“But you don’t celebrate Christmas,” I say too quickly before realizing he’s using Christmas metaphorically.

He doesn’t correct me.

With Jude still stirring the butter and sugar, I crack eggs into the bowl and watch the yolky mixture blend with the other ingredients.